All I needed was cockroach killer.
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The shopping was almost done. One more item and I'd be through the checkout and headed for my morning coffee.
But there was an indecisive woman and her annoying trolley standing between me and the bug spray.
My angry antenna started to twitch.
I could easily blame my lack of patience on being uncaffeinated for about 12 hours, but that wasn't the cause.
I was simply being a turkey ... and it's not even Christmas. (And for all those eager elves who are wiggling their pointy little ears in disagreement - yes, I imagine you are already into Phase 2 of your 2019 prep - IT IS NOT CHRISTMAS YET).
Geez, these premature Christmas crackers really stretch my patience. I'm already seeing red, and it's not trimmed with tinsel or white faux fur.
I loathe people who hover or get in your personal space with the express purpose of hurrying you up, so I never resort to that tactic, even in the bug spray aisle.
Just on that subject, if you stalk me in a shopping centre car park in the hope of bagging my spot, you will be disappointed.
If I hear the low, menacing hum of a death-wish driver shadowing me, I will most certainly walk past my car and keep going for a good few metres before turning suddenly as if I had just remembered where I parked.
This backtracking manoeuvre gives the next, non-stalking, driver the golden ticket to my spot.
Tough, but fair.
Back to my supermarket aisle rage.
It was building.
I watched the subject of my annoyance from a non-stalker distance.
She had a different spray in each hand and was reading the descriptions.
"How hard can it be?" I thought.
"The spray usually kills flies, roaches, ants, fleas, spiders ... sometimes all at once. Surface or air spray?
"Geez, lady, unless you have been invaded by pterodactyls, I think you are covered."
So I moved in with a sort-of polite "excuse me can I just squeeze past and get a bog-standard roach killer?"
The Woman Holding Two Cans looked at me distractedly, nodded apologetically and moved over. I was home free.
Until she spoke.
"Can you help me please?" she said in a thick accent.
"Can you tell me, is this one here for the crawling bugs?"
I realised The Woman Holding Two Cans could not read the instructions that were, of course, only in English.
In an instant I went from the Shirtiest Sheila in Shirtyville to the Sorriest Sheila in Shametown.
Standing beside The Woman Holding Two Cans I worked out what was bugging her: cockroaches.
I showed her what would probably work and explained with NIDA-worthy theatricality how, where and when to use the spray.
I also predicted the product's effectiveness by using my Super Shopper Spidey Sense.
My stirring re-enactment of a roach's last gasps on the front doorstep of a suburban house got my new friend over the line.
She chose the surface spray.
I told her I shared her problem: cockroaches. We had a laugh. I didn't tell her that just a few minutes before the biggest problem bugging me was her.
OK, I was the problem.
After my reality check, I was as patient and accepting of my fellow humans as the Dalai Lama.
It lasted a day.
Standing in a queue for coffee I was back in Shirtyville.
I was in such a mood that day I could have easily been mistaken for the Sheriff of Shirtyville.
What was taking so long? Well, I'll tell you. It was a man fussing over his order.
I was a few people back from the action, but I could see that the man was showing the woman serving him a piece of paper. She was patiently reading through his list, apparently checking off items.
The Shirtyville script started in my head.
"Mate, how hard can it be?
"When did ordering something at a cafe become more involved than brain surgery?"
There were no big groups at the cafe, so The Man With The List was clearly ordering just a few things.
This palaver went on for another few minutes with a further two checks of the list before it wound up.
The next few orders were carried out swiftly. Including mine: one long black. That's it. Simple, I smugly noted to myself before finding a seat.
Then, The Man With The List caught my eye. He was sitting a few tables away with another person.
I was about to roll my eyes when I saw something. The man and his friend were talking ... in sign language.
Clearly, the list was just his order. Written. That way it was easier, not just for him, but for his friend and the person taking the order. Easier for everyone really.
I loathe people who hover or get in your personal space with the express purpose of hurrying you up, so I never resort to that tactic, even in the bug spray aisle.
I was back in Shametown, via Shirtyville. You know what, it's not such a great place. My recent repeat visits were more than enough.
I toured the hotspots and really didn't like what I saw. Besides that, the trip there was infuriating. Enough to test anyone's patience.
Mercifully, for everyone, I'd like to report that I've steered clear of Shirtyville ever since.
I'm back in my usual patch. Let's call it Calm Springs.
It's quite lovely. No cockroaches.
Actually, nothing here bugs me much.
It's really nice.
Like me.
- Deborah Richards writes for the Newcastle Herald. Contact the writer: deborah.richards@newcastleherald.com.au
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